


The way you said I love you

by mizukiakabayashis (kraykei), sabasama



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sick Fic, overuse of mediocre space metaphors, prompt series, the way you said I love you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 09:22:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6652141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kraykei/pseuds/mizukiakabayashis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabasama/pseuds/sabasama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of standalone one-shots based on the tumblr prompt post <a href="http://trash-by-vouge.tumblr.com/post/132858041745/the-way-you-said-i-love-you">The way you said "I love you"</a> in no specific order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The way you said I love you

**Author's Note:**

> Alright. Soon, I'll be released from the hell that is Spring Semester and I've been thinking of this prompt series for so long. I really want to improve my writing, specifically in the IwaOi department, so I've decided to take up this little project. My wonderful friend Caitlyn (mizukiakabayashi) - who, bless her soul, engages in on-the-spot iwaoi fic planning with me more often than not - is listed as my co-author because most of these fics will be the product of our brainstorming and tears.
> 
> The plan as of now is: these will all be standalone fics, with lengths ranging from drabbles to longer. Tags will be added as we go along. Super important tags will be mentioned at the start of every chapter, as well as the rating, of which will range from General to Explicit. No set update schedule. 
> 
> This chapter will be rated General Audiences and is a sick fic. 
> 
> That's all for now, and so... please enjoy the first installment of what will hopefully be a really, really long ride.

Walking to school without Tooru doesn’t feel right. Admittedly, doing things Hajime usually does with Tooru never feels right without him. When you go back so far with someone you can’t even remember a day without, it’s painfully obvious when something’s missing.

 

He gets the text early in the morning so Hajime doesn’t stop and wait in front of his gate; Tooru is sick and he won’t be able to make it to practice or school today. And it’s got to be a nasty cold, too, considering Tooru’s a stubborn bastard who will put just about anything volleyball related before his health.

 

Hajime sighs inwardly and distractedly watches his breath cloud before his nose as he unlocks the clubroom. He’s earlier than usual, probably because he didn’t have to deal with a certain someone’s tardiness and sass.

 

The clubroom is only a few degrees warmer than outside and Hajime shudders at the thought of having to undress in this temperature. It’s oddly quiet too, and it rings in Hajime’s ears. He hates how even silence acts as a reminder of his best friend’s absence. It’s only natural, seeing as his mornings are usually filled with Tooru’s prattling about the most insignificant things like how he woke up with one sock when he was certain he’d went to sleep with two.

 

Hajime finds himself chuckling at the memory and immediately straightens up, eyes darting around the room as if someone could have heard him. Like hell he’d ever admit Tooru was actually kind of endearing sometimes… only kind of.

 

His nose wrinkles at the intruding thoughts and he pulls his jersey and track pants off to distract himself with the cold bite of the cold to his newly exposed warm skin. He focuses on the goose bumps blooming down his arms and legs instead of on the irritatingly empty space beside him. Ridiculous, the asshole even ticks him off when he’s not around.

 

The door swings open and reveals Hanamaki, Matsukawa, and almost the entire rest of the team. Iwaizumi straightens up and tries to smooth away the frown pinching his brows.

 

“Yo, Iwa-chan.” Hanamaki calls.

 

“Don’t call me that.” Hajime snaps instantly without missing a beat.

 

Hanamaki whistles low and Matsukawa’s eyes lazily scan the clubroom. “Where’s our dear captain on this fine morning?”

 

Hajime scowls and wrinkles his nose, turning away to zip his bag up (maybe a bit too forcefully). “He’s out with a cold.”

 

“Oh? That’s rather surprising,” Hanamaki says, thin eyebrows raised incredulously.

 

Hajime only shrugs in response. Instead, he closes his locker and excuses himself to the gym to get practice rolling.

 

As the day progresses, it only gets worse and worse. Practice inches by at a snail’s pace and it’s not that Hajime doesn’t like practicing with Yahaba, it’s just not the same. Leading practice without Tooru feels stuffy and, dare he say, almost uneventful, too. Hajime inwardly scoffs at that. Most mornings he can’t even get the guy to shut up, now he’s almost craving to hear that voice ricochet off the walls of the gym.

 

A vein bulges in his forehead and Hajime slams the ball down with a renewed vigor. It’s annoying to even admit to himself how much he misses Tooru so he channels his anger into improving his game with Yahaba, instead.

 

It’s a good distraction for practice, but the rest of the day continues similarly. Lunch break feels just as weird and empty as practice had felt and afterschool, instead of Tooru milling around with his fan-girls, it’s only the group of girls with a sorely missing floppy-haired boy.

 

“Ah! Iwaizumi-san!” One of the girls calls out. Hajime fights the urge to turn heel and run.

 

“What’s up?”

 

The girls mumble and fidget collectively before one girl with short brown hair steps up. “We heard O-Oikawa-san has a cold today and couldn’t come to school...” The girl trails off before the group nudges her in support and she bows her head as she holds up a small bag. “We were wondering if you could please give this to Oikawa-san for us!”

 

Hajime blinks at the bag, going cross-eyed with the proximity. Like this, he can’t do anything but accept and watch as the girls squeal and flit off together like a flock of excited birds. Weird.

 

With Tooru as an excuse, Hajime excuses himself from afternoon practice. He probably should stay seeing as he’s second-in-command, but something tugs in his chest at the thought of another practice without Tooru and he’s not _that_ good at lying to himself. He stops at a drugstore to pick up everything he needs and soon he’s letting himself into Tooru’s room.

 

The room’s a mess and there’s a huge lump of blankets curled up in the center of the bed, tissues scattered all around like petals. Hajime smiles secretly to himself.

 

He sets his stuff down, careful not to make too much noise as he tiptoes over to the side of the bed where he can see Tooru’s curls peaking from under the blankets. He kneels beside him and nudges his hand.

 

Tooru only shifts minutely so Hajime nudges a little more incessantly. A scratchy groan sounds muffled through the endless layers of blankets followed by a racking cough and Hajime schools his features as he pulls the blankets away to reveal a puffy-eyed, red-nosed, and feverish Tooru.

 

His best friend squints at him and once he registers who it is, his eyes blow wide. It’s almost comical with how puffy they are and Hajime can’t help but snicker.

 

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru croaks, shifting his hand to hold Hajime’s. His fingers are clammy and warm and Hajime holds on tight.

 

“Hey,” he says, “I brought you medicine and milk bread.”

 

Tooru’s cheeks tinge red and Hajime blames it on the fever, naturally.

 

“My hero…” Tooru says, squeezing his hand and clamping his mouth shut around a cough that rattles his shoulders. “Mom left some porridge in the fridge, mind heating that up for me?”

 

Hajime fights the urge to lean over and smooth Tooru’s fringe from his forehead and kiss him. Right now is not the time—or ever, for that matter. Instead, he gets up and makes his way to the kitchen to heat up the porridge. While he waits, he gathers more supplies he’ll probably need. It’s not the first time he’s done this, so Hajime already knows the steps as if he were in his own home.

 

He’s back in Tooru’s room in no time. Tooru’s already got himself propped up against some pillows and his puffy eyes squint as he smiles when Hajime walks in.

 

“Iwa-chan will make a good wife,” Tooru chirps, but it sounds dry and off from his normal mocking lilt.

 

Hajime bites back a retort and sets some things down on his cluttered desk before handing the porridge over carefully. “Eat it all up, you hear?”

 

“Yes, mom~”

 

Hajime doesn’t have the will to turn around and smack an invalid. He rummages through the plastic bag, pulling out medicine and cooling pads. Harsh coughing sounds from behind him and he whirls around to find Tooru precariously balancing the bowl in one hand and about to let out what looks to be the world’s most intense, body-rattling sneeze.

 

He’s quick on his feet and in just a few strides he’s pulling the bowl from Tooru’s hand and covering his mouth with a tissue he'd nabbed from the side table as Tooru jolts forward, sneezing loudly. The setter groans and moans, taking the tissue and scrubbing his face incessantly like a child.

 

“Hey, hey, gentle with that,” Hajime grouses, offering another tissue. He sets the porridge down on the side table and takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

 

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, “could you feed me?”

 

Hajime stares his best friend down with the deadest of eyes and is ready to flick his forehead to dispel the way his insides turn to mush at the thought, but something stops him.

 

Tooru is attractive. If you couldn’t already tell by the hundreds of fans – boys and girls, students and teachers alike –, the curve of his nose, the blinding smile, the impossibly long lashes, the elegantly long fingers, and the stylishly tussled hair, well… you’d be blind (objectively speaking, of course). In all their years together, Tooru’s never looked, quote on quote, unattractive. The only times he’s ever come close have been—well, times like these. Tooru’s usually bouncy waves fall almost lifelessly around his face, his nose is rubbed raw and red, and he’s covered a slight sheen of feverish sweat. His normally bright eyes are reduced to a dull shimmer and are ringed with dark circles and it almost hurts Hajime physically to look at.

 

He sighs. As pretty as he is, Tooru’s not weak and is more than capable of taking care of himself but, well… Hajime’s more than _in_ capable of saying no to him most of the time.

 

He picks the bowl and spoon up and readies a spoonful, holding it up to Tooru’s awaiting mouth, which is annoyingly shut in a pout.

 

“What?” Hajime snaps.

 

“Iwa-chan, you have to blow on it or it’ll be too hot!” Tooru complains, voice more nasally than usual from the stuffed nose.

 

His soul leaves his body momentarily as he screams into nothingness. “Oikawa, _please_ , it’s already considerably cooled down…”

 

Tooru continues to pout, shiny red bottom lip sticking out petulantly. Hajime deflates almost instantly, feeling the irritation dissipate. Whatever.

 

Carefully guiding the spoon to his own mouth, Hajime lightly blows on it before offering it back to a pleasantly content and red-nosed Tooru who opens his mouth willingly. Hajime tries not to stare at the way his lips wrap around the spoon and gently scoops up any left overs from Tooru’s bottom lip, like feeding a baby. He’s learned a thing or two from having two younger twin siblings, after all.

 

“Iwah-shan ish sho ghentle,” Tooru says, giggling around the mouthful of porridge. He coughs a little when he swallows and Hajime flicks his forehead.

 

“Yeah, yeah, shut up and eat, will ya?” Hajime says. “People wouldn’t stop asking about you, so you gotta get better fast. It’s just as much a hassle for me when you’re gone as it is for you…” Hajime trails off, cheeks reddening. Now he’s the one talking too much.

 

He regrets it instantly. Tooru lights up like a string of Christmas lights. “Did everyone miss me? What did they say? I knew I should have gone to school— _mmf_!”

 

Hajime makes quick work of another spoonful of porridge and efficiently shuts him up.

 

“Less talking, more eating.”

 

Tooru looks happy enough to comply.

 

Soon, there’s no porridge left and Tooru snuggles back into bed with a fresh cooling pad slapped to his forehead, courtesy of Iwaizumi Hajime.

 

Hajime cleans the dishes and tidies up the messy room. He leaves the girls’ gift on Tooru’s desk and the medicine on the bedside table with a full glass of water. Before he steps out, though, he takes a moment and kneels beside the bed. He’d never admit it, but Hajime secretly likes watching Tooru sleep. In sleep, all his pretenses and walls drop, and he's left looking overwhelmingly peaceful and content. Right now, his lips part slightly around his small breaths and his nose and cheeks are tinged bright red. From this close, Hajime can make out the small, almost transparent freckles that dot his cheeks and the bridge of his nose like stars in the night sky. His eyelashes kiss his reddened cheeks and—

 

Alright, that’s more than enough for one day.

 

Now that he thinks about it, Hajime’s pretty sure he’s got a paper to write before tomorrow, some laundry, and probably needs to clean up his room. There’s certainly no time to be sitting here waxing poetic like a fifteen year old that’s just discovered love.

 

Hefting his bag higher up on his shoulder, Hajime carefully and quietly stands up. Something in his chest tugs, tell him not to go and reasons he could do his homework at the desk. He shakes his head to rid himself of the unnecessary thoughts and turns to leave.

 

Then he feels a physical tug, specifically on the bottom edge of his jersey.

 

Hajime frowns and when he peeks over his shoulder to check where his jersey’s caught, he finds long fingers hooked onto the end of his jacket. His eyes follow the lean arm in disbelief until they land on a pair of round brown eyes gazing out of a window in the mess of blankets.

 

Hajime only barely has time to blink and drop his bag before he’s being wrenched into said mess of blankets.

 

It takes a few jerks and kicks and pulling before Hajime comes face-to-face with the biggest pain in the ass he’s ever had to deal with.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He says, muffled by the blankets settling over their heads.

 

Tooru smiles and tucks Hajime closer. He tries not to the think about the leg hooked around his hip or the arm slung over his shoulder or the cheek pressed into the top of his head.

 

The only response he gets is Tooru tightening his hold. He’s almost suffocating him; Hajime feels hot, everywhere. It’s overwhelming and extremely difficult to remind himself why he should get up and go _right now._ He tries to do just that, but it’s almost like being stuck in a human-sized Chinese finger trap--the more he struggles to break free, the tighter Tooru’s hold on him becomes.

 

“Don’t go, Iwa…-chan…”

 

Hajime freezes. He wills himself to focus intently on anything but Tooru's skin against his and finds that his breathing has evened out and is sleeping.

 

The stress of the situation on his mind and body gets to him and he can’t help but panic. What if Tooru wakes up? What will he say? It’ll be super embarrassing and not something he’s mentally ready to handle at the moment and— _god,_ does he wish Tooru would just fucking let go—

 

“Iwa-chan, Iwa… Hajime,” his words are slurred and hoarse but the use of his first name runs down his spine like he’s just been struck by lightning.

 

“Haji...me, I love you…”

 

Hajime’s eyes practically bulge out of his skull and he’s pretty sure he sees stars as he stares wide-eyed at the column of Tooru’s neck, the only thing he can vaguely see, here, under the covers with a feverish and sleeping Tooru confessing his love to him. 

 

Tooru continues to mumble those words hoarsely in his sleep as if he hasn’t just one-handedly torn open a black hole in Hajime’s mind. It's inexplicably quiet except for Tooru's whispers and Hajime's heart beating in his ears. The words float around him under the blanket and over Tooru’s feverish skin, as if suspended in space. The blanket keeps them from sailing off into the atmosphere and they almost suffocate Hajime, crowding him from every side. He tries to stay calm, tries to reason, tries to ignore it, but the darkness underneath the blanket, their skin pressed together with hardly a spec of space between them, feels like an entirely different galaxy.

 

Hajime takes a shaky breath and his lungs fill with a scent that's distinctly Tooru, warm and electric. His arms are going numb by his sides, prickling like stars twinkling beneath his skin, and what’s stopping him from burrowing deeper into Tooru’s embrace, wrapping his arms around his waist, and lying here in their own personal universe?

 

For now, nothing.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed! Kudos and comments are always appreciated. See you soon!
> 
> Come cry to me about iwaoi at [twitter](https://twitter.com/sabasama_) and [tumblr](http://sabasama.tumblr.com/).


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